Change That
by Aeronnen
Summary: Minerva and Albus have a long and truthful conversation, of love, love lost and life. And Albus finds that the truth, as his father had always said, sets you free.


A foray into unusual territory, but I hope it is read as I mean it to be: Reviews would be very, very, very gratefully accepted. Flames will be replied to, contemptuously.

Change That.

The fire in the large study crackle merrily; Albus leant close over the chess board, and carefully directed a pawn to F6. Minerva, his worthy opponent, sighed.

"Have you bee reading the tips page in _Transfiguration Today _again?"

"I most certainly have not," he replied promptly. "I have been rather busy."

"Not as busy as Severus," Minerva replied, lips pursed. "You realise he's given Potter detention every Saturday for the rest of the term?"

"I was aware of that," he said, watching as Minerva's hand hovered over her knight. "But Harry used a rather inappropriate spell, you know."

"_I _was aware of _that," _replied his Deputy Headmistress. "But it was Malfoy, Albus, and I can't help wonder -"

"Mr. Malfoy has been dealt with, accordingly, Minerva," he said, rather sternly. "And I am sure Severus has arranged a similar punishment for him."

Minerva snorted, in an unladylike way. She folded her arms, and her knight was never moved. "You know he has more favouritism than You-Know-Who himself -"

"Don't joke, Minerva," Albus said quietly. Minerva fell silent, and stared at him. The fire cast a bloody tinge to his white beard, making him seem as ill as he seemed all term. His withered, blackened, hand was folded in his other, pale, living one.

"I've never seen Potter so happy," she said eventually. "He and Miss Weasley, they … they are both very happy."

"Hm, yes," replied Albus, smiling; his blue eyes twinkled as he met Minerva's sharp green ones. "I heard about that, too. And he does seem happier in himself."

"Actually," said Minerva, a smile twisting itself onto her lips despite herself, "he looks exactly like his father did when he succeeded in winning Lily over."

Albus bobbed his head in agreement. "They do have an uncommon similarity."

"The only difference," Minerva said, remembering the four marauders and James's constant attempts at trying to catch Lily's eye, "is that there was less shouting and less casualties involved in Harry's relationship."

"Ahh," sighed Albus reminiscently. "Do you remember when the two of them exploded the Prefects' bathroom between them?"

"That was spectacular," she agreed. "But annoying. The mermaid has never been the same since … so empty-headed."

"Love can do that to people," Albus said wisely. Minerva laughed.

"It can explode bathrooms? Now, that is something else, Albus -"

"I seem to remember," he interrupted gently, "a certain young witch setting her male admirer's broom on fire?"

Minerva coloured. "Where did you hear about that? That was sixty-three years ago, and besides, it wasn't _love_!"

"I remember Armando mentioning it after your interview. And was it not love?"

"I was seventeen! Andthe little bugg - pig - was looking at me like I was some sort of item on display. Seventeen-year-olds do not fall in love, Headmaster."

"Lily and James did," Albus said, frowning a little, but not at her. "And, you know, Harry Potter knows his own instincts very well, as does Miss Weasley."

"You shouldn't label them, Albus," Minerva replied a little disapprovingly. "I don't know why you should think that true love has to found at school, or why you have to fall in love, and if they were married, they would have no freedom -!" Minerva broke off, embarrassed. She did not normally reveal so much of herself, or her private thoughts; but she remembered her own pain that had occurred because of the old pure-blood values; and, looking up, she knew that Albus was thinking of her old heartbreak, too. It infuriated her how much he knew, sometimes.

"I was always surprised, my dear," said Albus, "that you never did fall in love."

"Who is to say I didn't," she replied waspishly. "I just didn't marry."

"True," he said. "I am still surprised."

"So was my mother," Minerva scowled, "as you know full well. If I'd wanted to marry, I would've done."

Albus chuckled, and relieved the tension in the air; Minerva's life had always been a touchy subject between them, because it was long and filled with many things that a very few knew about. Her fated romance was one of those things. "I have no doubt you would have done, my dear."

"I always thought," she said, eyeing him beadily, "that it was a surprise you never left Hogwarts for a wife, myself."

"Hogwarts is my home," Albus said quietly. "It always has been."

"Heartbreak makes you cling onto anything," she said quietly. "Even this draughty old castle."

"Heartbreak?" Albus said, looking with bright eyes at her, almost as if he could see the answer inside her already.

"Yes," she replied after a pause. "After all … why would a man so deeply convinced of the power of love, who devoutly believes in it, not partake in any himself?"

"Ah, Minerva," Albus said, sighing. "I can hide nothing from you, can I? Yes, there was heartbreak - if you could call the other a heart. And there was death, and sadness, and betrayal … Love seemed to come last, in the end, my dear."

"It always does," Minerva acknowledged. The fire spat a glowing spark onto the hearthrug, and the resin of the wood crackled.

"And I am afraid that much of it was my fault, because I was young, and foolish, and arrogant." Albus frowned; he stared at the wand that lay by the chessboard; an elder wand, often called unlucky. "Perhaps it was the heartbreak that made me realise how important love was … it was only as I saw him that last time I realised it, though …"

"And you think about him every day - or at least you used to. Now it is weekly thing - or even a monthly. The pangs aren't as deep," Minerva said, holding his gaze, "but they are still there. And you wonder where he is … how he is … if he thinks of you any more … and you wonder if you want him to."

"Oh, my dear," said Albus, who had listened in silence, eyes unnaturally bright, "you know me too well; you know the world, too well." His hand twitched as if he would touch hers, but he did not. So Minerva reached out and patted his both hands, the dead one and the living.

"I am privileged to know you," she replied softly. "I am honoured to know you so well. I am honoured to have your respect, and your confidence."

"And this changes nothing?" he said, face carefully controlled. But Minerva only smiled.

"What changes what, Albus? Our friendship? Our views?"

"Our friendship, Minerva."

"Nothing," said Minerva complacently, but earnestly, "could change that."

--

I understand that this I not what most of you were expecting. But I had to write it; I hope it was handled well enough, and that it was enjoyed. Thanks for reading. J.


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